IN THE BURNING COTTON MILL
The two companies were in such positions that Captain Artie's command
would be the first to receive the charge of the Confederates, who were
coming on yelling like demons. The enemy felt that the chances of escape
were slim, and came on in sheer desperation; and a crowd of desperate
men can accomplish a good deal at times.
But Artie, youthful as he was, did not quail. As rapidly as it could be
accomplished, he wheeled to one side and shouted to his first line to
"Take aim--fire!" And the blaze of the carbines caused a temporary
check.
As the Confederates came on again, the second line emptied their
weapons. Again there was a halt, and the enemy's line split, as though
the men had thought better of it and were desirous of running around the
Union soldiers.
Artie saw the movement and turned to Captain Richland. "I can take care
of the crowd on the right," he said.
"All right; I'll take that on the left," was the quick reply, and the
third company of the first battalion opened fire, while Artie's command
double-quicked to the new position indicated.
Again came a charge against the fourth company. But the force of the
Confederates now numbered but eighteen, and with two men shot down they
retreated as quickly as they had charged, and sought shelter behind the
cotton mill. Here the first company dislodged them, and then they threw
down their arms.
The other wing, led by the impetuous captain, hurled itself against
Captain Richland's company. The Confederate leader was supported by half
a dozen "fire-eaters," and about two score men; and although the charge
was not entirely successful, yet in the general melee resulting, the
captain and about half of those behind him managed to escape. The others
were either shot down or added to the prisoners previously taken.
The mill was now burning furiously at one end, making one of the
hottest fires the Lyon boys had ever witnessed. In it were stored
hundreds of bales of cotton which the owners had been trying to work off
in one way or another for months, but without success, for the cotton
trade of the Southern states was glutted, the blockade runners from
Europe carrying away only a small portion of the product.
"That building is doomed," observed Deck to Artie, who had come up,
breathing heavily after his hard work in disarming a burly ruffian who
had tried to cut him down from behind. "We may as well move on with our
prisoners."
Deck had scarcely spoken, when a cry rent the air. The cry came in a
man's voice, and was full of agony and terror.
"Help! help! help!"
"The cry comes from the other end of the mill," exclaimed Artie. "Come
on around and see what is up," and he ran off; for he was on foot, as
was also the major.
The end to which the captain had referred was not yet in a blaze, but
the smoke was curling from every opening, showing that the fire was
making rapid headway in that direction. Presently came a change in the
wind, causing the smoke to veer around.
"It's a man--in that upper window!" ejaculated Artie, pointing with his
hand. "Why don't you jump down?" he yelled.
"I can't!" came in a painful gasp. "My leg is caught fast in some
machinery and I can't loosen it. Save me, for the love of Heaven! Don't
let me die like this--even if I am a Confederate!"
"Caught fast!" echoed Deck. "Can't you break away at all?"
"No! no! Reckon my leg is broken!" The unfortunate one gave a moan of
pain. "Won't you do something for me?"
"I will--if it can be done," answered Deck. He turned to the cavalrymen
standing near. "Boys, have any of you seen a ladder about?"
One and another shook their heads. "There's a box," said one, "but it's
not over three feet high, and the window is twenty feet up."
"The box won't do. How about a rope?"
"Here's a stout cord," said another.
"Not heavy enough."
"Help me--quick! The fire is coming this way!" shrieked the imperilled
Confederate. "Save me, and I'll give you all I'm worth!"
"I'm coming!" answered Deck. "I wonder where the stairs are," he half
muttered, as he turned toward one of the entrances to the mill.
"For gracious' sake, Deck, what are you going to do?" cried Artie.
"Going to that fellow's aid."
"But it's not safe to enter the building. The fire is working this way
just as hard as it can."
"I'll risk it, Artie; I don't want to see that poor fellow die like a
rat in a trap."
"Yes, but--but--"
"There is no time to waste, Artie," answered Deck, and breaking away
from the hold the captain had taken, he leaped for the wide-open door of
the mill.
"If he goes, I'll go too," cried Artie, and started to follow the major;
but strong hands held him back.
"One is enough," said Captain Abbey. "I trust he is successful."
Captain Richland shook his head seriously. "The fire is sweeping to
this quarter of the building with great swiftness," he remarked.
Into the building rushed Deck, to find himself at once in an atmosphere
charged with smoke, yet not so heavily but that he could see about him.
To his left was a rough wooden stairway with an iron rod for a
hand-rail. Leaping for this, he began to mount the stairs three steps at
a time.
The higher up he went, the thicker became the smoke, and on the upper
flooring he could scarcely breathe. Bending low, to get the benefit of
any air which might be circulating, he crept along in the direction of
the Confederate sufferer. He had gone but a dozen steps when he halted.
Before him was what appeared to be a solid wooden partition.
"Hi! where are you?" he called out; but the fire had now crept so close
that the crackling of the flames drowned out every other sound. Feeling
that it would be a waste of precious time to remain where he was, he ran
along the wooden barrier from one end to the other. A door at last was
found, but it was tightly closed and refused to budge.
Taking his sabre, Deck attempted to get it in the crack between the door
and its frame. The point only could be introduced, and not caring to
break this off, he withdrew the blade. By this time the smoke was making
him dizzy, and he flew for a window to get some air.
"Help!" he heard the Confederate cry again, and now made a discovery he
fancied would be of advantage to him in his endeavor to assist the
unfortunate man. The window to which he had made his way was within two
feet of the wooden partition, while the window at which the Confederate
was calling from was an equal distance from the partition, on the other
side. The two windows, therefore, were but four feet apart.
As has been mentioned, it was twenty feet to the ground, a distance
great enough to cause serious results should the major take a tumble.
But Deck did not count the consequences. He was going to help the rebel
if he could.
Crawling forth, he turned on the window-sill and stood upright. The
framing was not over six inches in depth and was plain, affording but a
scant hold. He had hardly appeared when a shout went up from below.
"There is the major now!"
"Major, look out there, or you'll break your neck!"
These and other remarks were made, but Deck paid no attention further
than to "look out," whatever that might mean. In reality his gaze was
fastened on the window next to him, and now he leaned over and caught
hold of the edging. But at this distance the hold was too uncertain to
be depended upon, and he drew back.
The question of what was to be done next was a serious one. The wind had
shifted again, giving a temporary check to the fire in that direction;
but it would shift back, and then Deck felt the end of the mill would be
close at hand. He looked at the next window again.
A large nail caught his eye, fastened at the top of the frame. He felt
that this would hold, if only he could reach it. He took off his sabre
belt and examined it.
The belt was strong and so was the buckle, and leaning over he threw one
end of the belt out, not once, but several times. At last a portion of
the buckle caught over the nail. He pulled on the leather to make sure
it would bear his weight, then swung to the sill of the next window with
ease.
"Thank Heaven!" he heard the Confederate ejaculate. The man had been
holding himself up as far as possible, but had now dropped flat on his
back.
Despite the smoke, the major soon took in the situation. The Confederate
had stepped upon the lever of a compressor; the jaw of the machine had
opened, and his leg had been caught and held. Whether the limb was
broken or not, the major could not tell; but it was certain the
unfortunate one was suffering intense pain, and this, added to his
fright because of the fire, made him truly an object of compassion.
"Can you--you--release me?" he groaned, and he seemed to be on the point
of fainting.
For reply Deck grasped the lever and attempted to force it back. It was
stuck, and he had to exert all his strength to move it even an inch.
Seeing an iron rod handy, he used it as another kind of lever, and with
a click the jaws of the machine opened, and the Confederate was free.
"What shall I do?" he asked, in a whisper. "I--I can't walk."
"I will carry you," answered Deck. "Wait just a second."
He bounded along the wooden partition to where the door was situated.
The air was tremendously hot, and the wind was shifting back. As he
gained the door there was a dull booming, as a portion of the flooring
in another department of the mill gave way, and the whole structure
began to shake.
The door was merely latched and he flung it wide open. But this created
a draught, and he closed it again; then ran back for the Confederate.
The poor fellow had fainted.
The load was a heavy one, but in the excitement Deck could have carried
twice the weight. Flinging his burden over his right shoulder, he
staggered through the smoke. The room was now ablaze overhead, and the
sparks fell thickly upon his unprotected head and neck.
"God see us both through this in safety!" was the silent prayer which
came from his heart, and now the door was reached again. In a moment
more he stood in the apartment he had first entered. A look of
consternation spread over his pale, set face.
The fire had been at work overhead, running from end to end of the mill
roof. Now it had worked its way downward, and that part of the ceiling
above the stairway was a seething and roaring mass of flames and smoke.
It looked as if at any instant a portion of the roof might cave in,
burying the whole stairway beneath it.
Should he risk a descent? Deck's heart almost stood still as he asked
himself the question. He was brave, even to rashness; but this was very
much like courting death. For the moment he thought of home, his mother,
and of sweet Kate Belthorpe. Should he risk being torn from all that was
dear to him?
Another booming decided him. The fire had come down behind him, cutting
off his retreat. He must go forward or give up the struggle. With
another silent prayer that Heaven might guide and protect him, he
grasped his burden closer and advanced to the top of the stairs. Soon he
was hurrying downward as rapidly as the weight on his shoulder would
permit. Five steps were passed and he paused.
A blazing board had come down directly in front of him. As he stood
still, another came down, striking him on the unoccupied shoulder. He
waited no longer, but, calculating as well as he could, made a clean
leap to the bottom.
Luckily he landed squarely, and, though his burden made him stagger, he
did not fall. As he started for the open doorway, there was a crash, and
the stairway became a thing of the past. The young major had missed
death by less than five seconds.
How he gained the open air, Deck could not tell afterward. The smoke was
so thick he could not see, and breathing was out of the question. "Out
there--help me!" he yelled, when he saw the light, and then Artie and
several others ran to his aid. Two cavalrymen took the unconscious
Confederate and laid him on the grass.
"Deck, are you hurt?" asked the young captain, anxiously, seeing how
pale the young officer was. The major could not stand upright.
"Hurt? No--I'm--I'm--all right," was the answer; and then the gallant
youth fainted dead away.
With the wounded, he was carried on a stretcher to the nearest
ambulance. Artie was permitted to go along, and Captain Abbey took
command of the battalion. The Confederate was placed among the wounded
of his own company.
Colonel Lyon was not near the mill, and it was not until night that he
heard Deck was sick. The major did not recover consciousness for an
hour, and then it was found he had a fever. That night was an anxious
one for both the colonel and the young captain, and the morning brought
small comfort. Deck was out of his mind, and the doctor was afraid he
had inhaled too much smoke, and possibly some of the flames.
"The boy meant well, but he overdid the matter," said Colonel Lyon,
sadly. "I warned him over and over again to be more careful; but he was
too anxious to make a record for himself to listen to me. If anything
happens to him, what will his mother and the others say?"